The Tear In Our Hearts
by StalkerPedoMario98
Summary: [NOT A PAIRING FANFIC (no ships/otps)] [WARNING: contains sexual abuse, violence, gore, foul language] When a blizzard blows into town and Sam is caught in the middle of it (with Dean stuck in their current dingy motel room, sick), Sam must find his way back - no matter what.
1. Chapter 1

**Sam**

I shoot through the blinding snow, the blizzard becoming more unbearable by the second. The hard biting cold of the wind stings my face as I run head first, nearly falling several times due to the numbness that's taken over the nerves from my mid calves, down. The only sounds I hear (above the rush of blood in my ears), are the ripping of the wind and my labored breathing escaping from my chapped, frozen lips. I try to squint ahead searching for some source of light - a light that signals hope, or an eternal savior - but I can see nothing of the sort.

I've already firmly decided I wouldn't give up hope; Dean would hate me for that. Thinking of him now, I can already imagine his face scrunched up in disapproval and pinched with rage as I slump back inside, having been missing for hours (and on his watch, too). Surely Dean wouldn't hate me for too long, especially since we'll be cooped up together in the two room motel room for who knows how long.

In attempt to grasp some direction or landmarks, I lift my head more and force my eyes open, the snow flying at me like miniature bullets piercing my skin and sticking to any hair or clothing visible. I scream furiously as the snow wedges its way into my eyes, causing me to dip my head down and tuck the majority of it into the lip of my thin jacket. I knew I should have put a heavier coat on like Dean had ordered me to do, yet I escaped the motel room without one, thinking I would be just fine. Look at me now, though - can't even find my way back whatsoever.

Eventually I come to a shivering halt at the top of surely many rolling hills and fall to my weak knees. I can't take this anymore. I'm going to be forever lost in a whirlwind of this winter horrorland. For now there's just too many factors holding me back - the snow so deep I can barely stumble through it on my short legs, the coldness chilling every inch of me and turning me into a complete 'samsical' - everything.

With these in mind, a darker thought crosses the threshold - this may be my final stand against life and death; both things yanking on me back and forth like a rag doll. They both want me, but it seems like death might want me more. What a pitiful, depressing story I'll make when Dean and Dad come searching and find my frozen body here in this desolate spot. If there's any hidden irony I'll never find do to my departure in this story, it would be that the motel is just over this hill - or I simply will never be found.

As I listen to the snow screaming at itself around me, I slowly feel the darkness starting to close in on me, even though I certainly don't feel ready to leave. Of course, I want the pain to stop and the darkness to turn into peaceful light. But God damn not like _this_ \- especially since I feel like I still haven't accomplished anything. I'm not sure what it is, but there's this terrible nagging feeling deep inside of me that says " _get up and keep moving_ ". Maybe it's the darkness telling me it just doesn't want me right now.

I picture Dean rolling his eyes and calling me a dramatic.

" _You always overthink everything, Sammy. Lighten up and get over it._ " is what I'm fairly certain he'd say at this point.

Opening my eyes again, I little by little begin to realize the snow is letting up and the wind isn't as brutal as before. Small pockets of relief are released from my mind in the form of a long awaited puff of breath, echoing into the snowy parade dancing around me, calming and soothing me as I attempt to lift myself up. My arms shake and I almost collapse again. _Come on_ , I think to myself with focused determination, _you can do this_ \- _show this bastard of a blizzard who's boss_. Eventually I'm able to stand again, and resume dragging my feet in front of me through the icy mounds of white shit, step by step. The wind tries to push me back, but I persevere, determined nothing will stop me now. I can't see the sky or the sun's position, but either way, I have to make it back before dinner - Dean will kill me if I'm not there.

 **Dean**

Dad's going to kill me.

I knew letting Sam out for a short walk was the worst decision I've made in a long time (and there have been plenty close runner-ups), but I couldn't say no to those stupid puppy dog eyes. I should've gone with him...or I would've if weren't sick as a dog.

It hadn't been that hard for him to convince me to let him out, now that I think about it. Were our roles reversed he probably would've done the same, knowing how long he'd been trapped in here with the ill. It gets to you. Even still... I shouldn't have opened that door for him. I should've encouraged him to put more on - been more forceful about it. I should've shot down his idea first thing before it turned into a plea.

But now he's missing, and what I should have done, could have done, and most certainly would have done, have become what I didn't do, and what I hope to not repeat in the future.

"Sammy...where are you?!" I whisper worrisomely at the foggy window, periodically rubbing it clear to see out into the chasm of greyish white. I peer through in hope to spot a shaggy mop of brown hair crazily dancing in the perilous wind, an arm shielding the face from the snow shooting around like insects. His clothes would be whipping about his skinny body, which they are unwillingly attached to, craving more than anything to be set free. I would do my best to slam the door open and meet him halfway, and I would tug him willfully into the warmth of the dry motel room. I would keep him safe.

 **Sam**

I hope Dean is safe.

I probably shouldn't have left him there so defenseless and alone (especially in his state). I guess I've always assumed he's -invincible-big-brother who has always protected me, so the thought of him being in harm's way rarely crosses my mind. It is a possibility, though, and it upsets my stomach.

Just as I'm about to give up again (because I must be honest with myself and abilities to continue on), I spot a yellow light in the distance. It's faint yet warms my heart and boosts my confidence, and I crack a grin as I plow through the snow with newfound courage. The closer I get to it, the faster my heart beats, and the more forceful the butterflies in my stomach slam against my chest.

 _"I'm coming, Dean."_

 ** __?_-==-_-=_=-!_-=-_-=-__**

 **Dean**

I silently pray that Sam is near, as I reluctantly turn away from the window and switch the TV onto local news station.

"-an was last seen in the Clover Hill area in a black 1968 Ford pickup truck with one headlight out. He is to be considered dangerous and should not be approached. If you have any information on him or his whereabouts, please contact your local Crime Stoppers at the number on the screen." I frown with worry - we're in Clover Hill. What if that man somehow finds Sam before he can find his way back? The thought clenches my stomach and I take a step back, falling onto the couch behind me.

What am I supposed to do?! I can't go out there in this state...I'd put both of us in danger. The image of Dad busting into the room with Sam cradled in his arms, blue and lifeless as a corpse, doesn't ease my mind any more than the first idea, but getting Sam back is what matters. If I have to factor Dad into the equation to make everything work out, whether he's pissed about it or not, is a chance that I'm going to have to take.

Sighing, I lean over to the side table and pick up the spiral corded phone, taking a deep breath before slowly typing in his current emergency phone number. It rings for a few long tones before it clicks and a gruff "Hello?! Who is this?!" answers indignantly on the other end.

"Dad? It's Dean. I-"

"Dean? What the hell, buddy, I told you only to call my normal cell. You're damn lucky I just got into the Impala when I heard this phone going berserk. What is it?" I gulp and take a beat to steady my breathing before answering.

"Dad, Sammy went outside for a walk and hasn't come back. It's snowing really bad out there and I'm stuck inside sick as a dog - I'm sorry to ask you for this Dad. If you think I should immediately head out to look for him I will - I just figured I'd be more trouble than I'm worth in my state and you aren't too far away so I was just wondering-" I continued to stutter on, not knowing when to stop until I heard Dad clip my name.

"Why would let him walk out in the middle of a blizzard in the first place, Dean?! And by himself?! He may be 13 but that doesn't make him an adult! And you better be kneeling over the toilet right now if you're so sick you can't set it aside to go looking for him. We're going to have a long talk about all of this when I get back with Sam." he finishes, his breathing heavy through the phone earpiece. After a brief and suffocating silence passes between us, he hangs up, the click sharp and causing me to cringe.

"Yes, sir." I answer meekly in spite of myself, unsure of what to do now. Do I lean out the door and shout Sam's name until the cows come home? Or better yet, him? The conflicting decisions eat me up inside until I let out a furious growl and bury my face into the dusty cushion next to me. It smells of beer and BO, and a destructive avalanche of coughing erupts from my swollen throat when I pull away from it. After coughing into my hands, I pull back and notice blood swimming with mucus and sweat on my palms.

Cursing, I stumble from the couch and into the bathroom, nearly running into several pieces of furniture and a wall as my vision becomes blurry.

"Fuck, what's happening to me..." I hiss as I try to balance myself with the sink. My reflection in the faucet grimaces back at me, and when I look up into the filthy mirror I see a creature that couldn't possibly be me. Its pallid skin drips with sweat, its bloodshot eyes bulge, the veins in its neck seem larger and are visibly pumping much too fast - too much blood going everywhere. My vision is flooded with black dots and I rush to the open toilet with the urge to puke so much it'd be easier to simply turn me inside out.

A single thought rung out among the chaos I had suddenly leapt into, and it couldn't be filled with more malice.

 _I hope you're happy now, Dad._

_=_-_=_-_=_-_=_-_=_-_=_ **[WARNING: this scene gets pretty gnarly so I'll corner off where you may not want to read if you feel uncomfortable with sexual abuse]**_=_-_=_-_=_-_=_-_=_-_=_-_

 **Sam**

As I get closer to the light I realize it's a truck. There's a man in the cab, a conductor's cap pulled down over his bearded face as a universal sign for 'I'm sleeping, leave me alone' (a sign I've seen played many times when Dad is propped up on the couch or in the back seat of the Impala when Dean is driving). Any other time I'd let him be, but no matter the intensity of the snow it will still be colder than ghost's ass out here, and I'm not going to let this chance of warmth and safety slip by without me having to do or say something about it first.

Approaching the driver's side with caution, my hand at my back pocket where I always keep my switchblade when I go out anywhere, I tap with summoned confidence on the window. My hand is an ugly and sickly shade of violet, and my knuckles are white when they rap against the frigid glass.

The man inside jolts awake, his eyes bulging and the engine revving as he momentarily panics. I step back in fear of getting ran over or slammed backwards if he decides to throw the door open too, but when he catches sight of me bundled in nothing but a like jacket with a nose redder than Rudolphe's, he grins and rolls the window down a bit.

"Whatcha doin out here, kid?! Cold as fuck - you could get frostbite dressed like that!" the man looks me over, a strange glimmer in his eyes that I assume to be what any caring old guy would do when he sees a kid shivering in the middle of a blizzard. But something is still off about it, and my warning signals go off.

"Well, I was hoping you could maybe give me a ride - see I went for a walk and then this blizzard come out of nowhere, and now I can't find my way back to the motel my sick brother and I are staying at!" I'm forced to yell over the scream of the snow whipping by, its fierceness seeming to pick up the longer I simply stand out here and talk. The man rubs his beard between his greasy fingers, still looking me over almost hungrily, and as soon as he nods and waves for me to hop in, every fiber of my being screams for me to turn and run until I can no longer see the light that I'd once thought as to be a given saviour.

Instead, I nod with a somewhat merciful grin and slowly trudge to the passenger side. _God, I hope this doesn't bite me in the ass_ , I think over and over as I tug the door open, it letting out a shrill squeak that lasted until I got it open enough to get in. Closing it behind me, I suddenly feel trapped.

Why am I doing this!? I was probably so damn close to the hotel...what if we're sitting just down the road from it!? I'm so screw-

"So what's your name, kid?" the man asks, interrupting my flurry of panicked thoughts and startling me for a moment, my eyes wide as I watch him eying me. Something is not right here.

"Uh, Sam. What's your's?" I ask in trade, heart rate skyrocketing when the man sets his hand on the section of seat between us. He grins.

"Thomas. But you can call me Tom." he answers with a sly grin as he leans closer, and I grab for the door handle. I feel his large hand wrap around my arm, tight but not bone crushing, and he jerks me away from my escape route, using his other hand to twist my head around to face him.

"Where are you going? It's cold out there and there's no point in hurrying off. I've been needing some company." he pouts and I grimace.

"Let go of me." I answer in disgust, a sliver of trepidation hiding behind my confidence. I have to be strong, like Dean. He would kick the guy in the nuts - actually he wouldn't have gotten in in the first place; he isn't as street stupid as me. Dad would tell me 'you got yourself into this, now you gotta get yourself out'. He wouldn't be wrong.

"Well, didn't your folks ever teach you not to talk to strangers, boy?" I squirm under his grasp, a frustrated growl rumbling in my throat, "Ah ah ah, you're here now, aren't you? Hell, you want a ride? I'll give ya a ride." he purrs menacingly, wrapping a hand around my throat as he pushes me down against the cold material of the seat. He crushes my thin legs between his own, making it impossible for me to kick at him.

 **************heeeereee**************

Once he's gotten a good grip on me he reaches down towards his pants and starts to undo his belt, and true fear sets in. I scratch at the arm forcing me down but even when it starts to bleed, he shows no signs of giving way. Soon his belt is off and I feel like an animal in the jowls of its predator - a predator that likes to play with its food before eating it.

He's pulling his jeans down now, and I suddenly remember the knife in my pocket again. If I can just reach that- his dick is already hardened and looks diseased and sick.

He starts on my pants, having trouble with one of my bitchiest belts I've ever owned. I've always hated it because it's really too small for me and the last holes are still small from its previous owner having never used them. I used to hate wearing it, but now it's about to aid in saving my life.

I lift up slightly as if trying to help - like I've given up - and he smiles, starting to make headway with the belt when I reach back behind me and quietly pull the switchblade out like it's a lifesaver and I'm in the middle of the ocean drowning...drowning.

Just as I flick it open I feel him yank the belt away, and I know it's now or never. I'm frozen for a split second, my nerves shot to hell and unsure of what to do next even though my mind is screaming instructions right and left. Time is moving like a train speeding out of control, doomed to careen off the tracks unless I save it - save myself. It isn't until I feel my dick break out into the cold air _NO FUCK NO_ and my alarms burst inside my head as he leans forward and wraps his tongue around the tip _NONONONONONO_ when I bring the blade up from my back (accidentally cutting my side in the process) and slam it down into the skin just over his heart with an ear splitting scream. I swiftly yank it out and stab him again...and again...and again. Over and over I stab and slice at him, tears water-falling from my eyes faster and heavier than they have for as long as I can remember.

 **********he[In the long run, Sam overpowers him and stabs him several times with his switchblade after nearly getting raped. He nicked himself in the side of the stomach with the blade on accident in the process.]re**********

I know he's either close to or is dead when he slumps over on top of me, blood leaking from his mouth like even his insides hated him. I scream at his lifeless form and shove it off me and mostly into the floor. Blood covers nearly every inch of both the cab and me, the cut on my side only accounting for 3% of that amount. I tuck everything back in and pull my belt back on, my vision so blurry it takes me a few minutes.

Once it's been done (and I've fashioned a bandage from my undershirt over my surprisingly fairly deep cut), I sit in the fetal position with my back against the passenger side window, my arms wrapped tight around my legs. I allow myself to sob and cough and scream as loudly as I want. Dean isn't here to hold me and tell me everything will be OK, so I have to do it for myself, which will take some time getting to.

I've probably been sitting here for an hour or two now, sniffling and carrying on like my family had just been killed. I could have just been killed. Or worse. I do my best to shove the whole incident from my mind, never daring to even look down in the man's direction. He's nothing but some crusty dirt from another person's boot which they carelessly scraped on the driver's side floor mat. Nothing more.

I stare out the windshield instead, barely able to see through my watery eyes. I can make out the silhouettes of pine trees in the distance, their figures like bystanders wondering what happened, but not caring or curious enough to come and ask or console me. They just stay where they are, their invisible judging eyes never able to wrench themselves away from my violated spirit. Another sob racks my chest and I bury my face in my hands, as I switch into the questioning phase from my traumatic event.

How could so much happen in the span of a few minutes? How could I have been so damn gullible to get into this god forsaken truck with that...creep-sicko-twisted-ass shitter? What's wrong with me? Maybe I deserved what I was supposed to get..

The guilt is never ending - it shouldn't affect me, but it does. It's relentless.

Just as I'm about to scream at myself this time, I see headlights slowly approaching in the distance. They're low and hold a form of familiarity. Once closer, my eyes brighten and I practically dislocate my shoulder from slamming the door open with such unbridled excitement and relief.

Now out in the cold again I start shivering almost immediately, but don't allow it to hinder me from stumbling out into the road to catch who I know it is' attention. I wave my arms over my head and the Impala stops a few feet away. I can see Dad's surprised though grateful face through the windshield just before he puts it in park and wrenches the door open.

"Sammy! What the hell are you doing way out here!? Dean called and said you-" I cut him off by slamming into him with a tight hug, sobs releasing themselves as if they hadn't been for the past hour or so.

"Come on, get in the damn car before you freeze to death - wait, are you bleeding?! Shit, Sammy, come on get fucking in the car! We'll get you back and fixed up OK?!" he's forced to shout over the constantly howling wind, concern clear in his gruff voice. I nod and climb in through his already open door and over into the passenger side, my body still shaking furiously - both from the cold and my sobbing. I just want to be warm. I just wish that the last five hours of my life never happened, and I'd never asked Dean to go on a quick walk because who fucking walks around anywhere anymore. Not me.

"Here - try to keep warm until we get back, alright, Sammy?" he pulls his jacket over my scrunched body as I pull in tight to conserve body heat. I mutter a quiet thank you and he grunts in response. He's never been great at even the simplest of pleasantries - at least not with Dean and me. Typically he's all business, which suits me just fine since I'm fairly certain my teeth would chatter themselves out of my mouth and into tiny pieces on the floor if I'm to say anything more.

The rest of the drive back to the motel is silent as Dad maneuvers the Impala through the thick clumps of snow. I'm extremely surprised it can make it through such harsh weather conditions, but it seems like it always pulls through for us. I lean my cheek against its soft worn leather, the seat back smelling of whiskey and...Dean. He'd been the last one to ride in this seat with Dad when he'd dropped us off at the motel a day or so ago. I begin to feel guilty again about leaving him alone there, but feel a little better knowing I'm headed back to him.

Time edges by, and eventually we make it to the motel in one piece (though there were several moments when the Impala lost its footing and slid a little, causing Dad to hiss a few curse words and slowly ease it back into place). By now I'm aching to see Dean - tell him how sorry I am, reassure him that I'm alright, that nothing happened. I guess theoretically nothing did happen, in the sense that sure I was violated a little, but obviously I handled it (still am). If anything he will be proud of me. Dean is good about seeing the best out of bad situations.

As we enter the motel room I call out for Dean, my voice timid and childlike in my ears, not ringing true to be mine. A few moments go by before a subtle groaning noise comes from the bathroom. "Dean!? DEAN!" we find him up against the wall next to the toilet, puke wading in the toilet with strings of blood.

"Oh, Dean." I sigh as Dad cusses behind me and grabs a cloth from the rack and starts wetting it with cold water. We can't ever seem to catch a break.

 **Hey guys :3**

 **So I've been putting more thought into my writing (haha riiiight) and reading a lot of other non pairing fanfics because I honestly value the boys' relationship more than any otp. That's just me. It's kind of easier to write? I dunno. I hope you'll enjoy this one though.**

 **There's only going to be a couple more chapters to this, seeing as I've written so much in just one. I'm not sure spreading it out among several chapters (like I've done in the past) is the best option for this, so we'll see how the ball rolls. :)**

 **Thanks for reading and please comment and stuff! It really boosts my confidence when I find people actually like what I write. Ha. And I know this one has some parts in it that are quite uncomfortable to read (it was awkward for me to right as well), but I feel that the more real situations the boys are put through, the more lifelike they (the characters) become. [It's like comparing animations from the 50's to today.] Sometimes it's grounding to put your characters through things that could happen to any person in reality.**

 **Well, I've been rambling and I'm sure no one is actually reading this, but pink flamingos I can scream as loud as I want on this broken kiddy ride.**

 **Love you guys and thanks again :)**

 **~Carrie**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sam**

"Sammy - I'm so glad...see you...'live." Dean tries to form a coherent sentence as I tuck him into in bed after cleaning him up. Dad is out now, trekking through the lessening snow storm to the nearby convenience store to pick up some essentials. We're nearly out food and toilet paper, and Dean could certainly use a heavy dosage of strong medicine.

With a weighed sigh, I press a cold, damp washcloth against his forehead with the tips of my fingers, using my other hand to gently smooth back his sweaty hair. His cheeks are still fairly pale and sickly, but I can tell by his steady breathing that he's doing a bit better. He's definitely had worse.

"You're going to be fine, OK, Dean?" I mumble a few times as I slowly run my hand through his hair, and his eyes flutter open after a moment.

"Du', why you pettin' meh lika dog? I know 'm ador'ble but this's ridic'lous." he slurs with an amused grin, raising an eyebrow at my odd affection. I frown at him and roll my eyes, dramatically removing my hand before suddenly giving him an awkward side noogie and cooing at him like I would to any dog. He hisses and groans, lazily swatting in my general direction with a hearty smile.

"Stop it, ya little bitch!"

"Well, you had it coming for you, you ass! How about you stop acting like a drunk puppy and we'll both be set right."

"'m not a drunk puppy!"

I mock him in return and he tries to smack me, failing pitifully as I easily dodge his wimpy attempt.

"Is that seriously all you got?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry that 'm legitimately ill here." he retorts, pouting with arms folded firmly across his chest. If he can do one thing...I sigh (again).

"Alright whatever, Dean. Since you're mister helpless and you're just _so ill_ , then I suppose you need rest more than TV time. At least until Dad get's back." I say slyly with a coy grin, and his eyes narrow.

"What kinda dictatorship do ya think this's?! Why should you be the one callin' the shots?! 'm older 'n you, therefore I should have authority no matter the circumstance." he makes out, his words sounding better and more clear in the heat of his anger. I shake my head with a smile and tsk at him.

"Who's the one tucked tight into a bed? Who's the one who's so defenseless they can't even hit the other after they've been treated like a 'drunk puppy'? Who's not terribly ill?" I can go on for days, but once he gives me the worst 'bitch please' face I wrap it up nice and straight to the point, "You. Exactly. So shut up and keep quiet, old man." I conclude proudly, my hierarchical stance elevating the bigger my head gets.

Dean looks slightly taken aback at first, then simply rolls his eyes.

"Whatever you say, Queen Samantha." he coughs, but if it's to hide his obvious laughter he fails miserably. Great, another nickname - as if 'Samantha' wasn't bad enough. As I safely decide to reserve a further developed argument for a later date, when a solid knock resounds from behind me.

"Must be Dad - check the eye hole ta be-"

"Yeah I know, Dean." I move to the door and squint through the hole to see Dad shivering with several heavily filled plastic bags hanging from his arms. I nod to myself and open the door, the frigid air shoving its way inside and nearly knocking Dean's plastic cup of sink water over on the side table. Dad shuffles in and hastily sets the bags down on the narrow kitchen counter, his breathing heavy and somewhat labored.

"You boys still doing, alright? Sam have you looked at your wound?" Dad turns to me pointedly, his brows furrowing when he notices no change in bandage or clothing. I shrink under his wary gaze and move towards Dean as if he just silently called for me.

"What's this talk about 'wounds', Sammy? You know if you're hurt you're s'posed to fix yourself up before messin' around with the sick. Plus there's no reason ta be walkin' 'round with a profusely bleeding wound when we have stuff to help stop that. Thought you knew better." Dean shifts in his bed uncomfortably, and I stare down at my boots for a moment before meeting his gaze.

"Sorry. Just got caught up in helping you, I guess."

"Yeah, well, thanks, but I'm fine. Now go get yourself checked out." he orders tersely, eyes flicking between Dad and me. I roll my eyes again as I grab the first aid kit from one of the few duffel bags laid out on the kitchen table and head into the bathroom.

Closing the door behind me, I turn to take a long look at myself in the dirty mirror. I appear worn down like a pencil eraser stub, deep purple bags under my sunken, nearly bloodshot eyes. My shoulders sag and slump forward due to my constant terrible/inadequate poster, and the baggy hand-me-down clothes only aid in giving me the 'I could care less about my future because I'm poor so what's the point?' look, which is quite the opposite of who I really am. Although a portion of it is true, it's only that way for the reason most normal people wouldn't figure.

Already tired of staring back at my own face, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, the air tasting of mold, dust, and blood. I shiver and open them up in order to start working on my wound. Blood cakes my inner arm and the right side of my thin T-shirt - it's even seeped into my jacket. Soon I've peeled all of my upper clothing off, a few moments filled with slowly breathed hisses escaping like a boiling kettle through my teeth, and I'm extremely grateful I've managed to strip at all. Pulling the 'bandage' off now, I start to feel a little woozy from blood loss as even more of it now starts to stream from my body.

I firmly plant my left hand over the worst part of the gash as my right hand works to properly hold the needle and thread after quickly pouring some alcohol over the wound - I scream a cuss word for that. I hear Dean groan out my name, and I'm forced to let him know that "I'm fine" through tight lips. I've seen Dad and him work a needle through a wound plenty of times before...surely I can do it as well.

Releasing my left hand from the wound, the dark red liquid trickles less forcefully now as my shaking, blood soaked hands press the threaded needle through the tough skin of my torso. I bite back a scream as I watch it go through and into the other side, the slick feeling of the thread running through my skin making goosebumps raise up on my neck like the dead. I repeat the action of running it back and forth for nearly half an hour I'm sure, needing to pause every few minutes just to clear my eyes of tears blurring my direly needed vision.

In the end, though, I finish it off with the snip of a pair of travel size scissors before rocking on my feet and gently sitting down on the toilet cover. Sweat sticks to my body like a second skin and my nose is dripping and stopped up with snot from all of the crying I've done. The tears that now plague my reddened, puffy eyes are no longer bitter and scared, but exhausted and hopeless. What kind of life am I living that all of this has happened to me?! The fact that none of it is even supernatural based is what sickens my stomach more than if it were. Of course, if I were a normal kid and something like this had happened to me, I'd most likely be dead or in a hospital for my injuries - not sitting on a gross toilet, in a gross motel room, stitching my own wound with only a bottle of jack to keep me top side.

I decide now to promise myself for the millionth time that I wont let this be my life forever. I can't keep living like this - I'm not one of them. I mean I am, but not in this way. There's got to be switch lane for this crazy train.

A solid knock on the bathroom door jerks me out of thought, but I'm quick enough to remember not to jostle my stitches. Dean precariously calls out my name, his voice soft with an even side of concern. I grin slightly and rasp out for him to let himself in. The door opens a moment later and his pale figure fills the doorway, a gasp erupting from his chapped lips and quickly turning into a strained cough.

"Sammy, what the hell, man! I could've helped you with this! What were you thinking of doing this all on your own?!" he immediately starts firing out, and I close my eyes and take in the sound of his voice, noticing that despite his pallid frame he's getting better. Realizing that I've seemingly fallen asleep on him, he ceases his argument and huffs a loud sigh.

"You are such a little bitch, you know that?" he asks much gentler this time, and I hear him move closer to me, his light fingers beginning to dance around my suture.

"Yeah, well you're a fucking jerk, Dean. I did it, didn't I?" I playfully retort, earning a snort out of him before his fingers leave my side and cup my face instead.

"Yeah...yeah you did. But please, allow me next time - your work looks like a kid did it." he jokes, rubbing his thumbs under my eyes to chase the tears away, just as he's done ever since I was little (of course not so much lately since I've gotten older). I smile at the comment and my eyes slowly tear open to meet his own, mine filled with curiosity and all over gratitude that no matter how many stupid decisions I make, he'll support me - or be there to scold me when I fall. Then again I suppose the latter is more of Dad's job than Dean's.

As he pulls away he flicks me in the nose with a stupid grin spreading across his pink cheeks. I blink in surprise before giving him an annoyed look.

"You dick. Hey! Why don't you help me bandage the rest of my wound here before heading back to doing nothing?" I call out as he turns to leave. He stops mid step and turns to roll his eyes at me.

"Oh, what, now the princess needs my help? My bad for trying to leave without asking." he answers with an annoyed pinch to his tone, and I give him my best bitch-face.

"If you couldn't tell, I was actually going to go get more bandages from my bag, you highness. I wouldn't just leave you sitting hear in the slums." he adds, a tint of hurt underneath his jesting taunt. I frown when I notice this, and simply nod in passive apology, and he sighs and leaves the room without another word.

He returns shortly with the bandages, fixes me up as quickly and efficiently as he can, and helps me into the main room. I'm half asleep as soon as my back falls softly on the anonymous mattress, and I slip into a deep, dream filled sleep soon thereafter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dean**

The screeching of shades being yanked back are what drag me from my sleep the next morning. Sunlight streaks through the air and lands directly on Sam, making me smile with squinted eyes. That's just what the kid gets for choosing the bed farthest from the door (of course it wasn't really his choice, that's just protocol).

An irritated groan erupts from his slightly parted lips, and I snort in spite of him as I toss off my covers. Dad is still standing at the window, fully dressed and surely quite eager to get out of this place ASAP. I can't blame him - or anyone, really. Nothing very good has come out of staying here, and I'm also ready to put it all behind us.

"Come on, Sammy. Time to get up, short stuff!" I grab the hem of his blanket and tear it away from him, earning a frustrated growl from the bundle of joy. He shivers and draws into himself, and I grimace when I catch a look at his suture - it's quite red, with specks of yellow (puss, for sure). Those sheets must've done a number on him last night or something; who knows the last time they were given a good wash. Not to mention our homemade sewing kit probably doesn't have much of a match against legitimate medical supplies.

"Dad, his wound...I think it's getting infected." I catch his attention and point to Sam's wound as I move closer to my little brother's crumpled frame. He's more pale than I'd realized, and when I reach out to touch him he shrinks away with a string of helpless whimper. Dad leans in and takes a long, deliberating look before stepping back and scratching his beard.

"We're going to need to take him to the nearest hospital. I hate to do it, but damn he doesn't look to hot - and I can't risk him getting any worse." he adds, and I nod in agreement. Sam's hair is in a frenzy, sweat sticking heavily on his pallid skin, making me worry even more.

"You'll be OK, Sammy. I promise we'll getcha fixed up." I assure him just before Dad wraps a blanket around his skinny body and gently picks him up. Dad mumbles something into Sam's ear and then looks to me knowing I don't have to be told to know what to do.

Once properly clothed, I gather our things together and meet Dad and Sam out in the Impala. After throwing the stuff in the trunk, I hop in the back with Sam and rest his head in my lap as Dad takes off for the hospital, the tires spitting snow out behind it as quickly as we come upon it. I can't imagine how it is we're able to go so fast, but I guess Dad hooked chains around the wheels.

By the time we reach the hospital and Dad carries Sam inside (I wanted to do it but Sam was getting quite heavy despite his thin frame - not to mention I'm still sick, and Dad urged me to give up) with me hot on his heels, the sun is nearing it's piquing point. This seemingly small yellow orb stares down at me like an all-knowing eye, criticizing every move I make or don't make, and it's starting to get under my skin.

Moving away from one of the floor to ceiling waiting room windows (Sam is in ICU at the moment, and we were told to be patient and hopeful) I rush a hand through my unkempt hair. The morning so far had gone far to fast for my taste, and I wish I could back track to the day before when everything wasn't great, but just alright. Now everything is just 'not great' and I don't know what to think.

I decide to go check out the vast fish tanks near the middle of the area, watching curiously though intently as the colorful things ran their typical routine of swimming from point a, to point b, then to point c and back. Sometimes they'd mix it up or stop to shoot the bubbles with each other, but otherwise they seem to lead a pretty simple and rather boring existence. I feel weird and silly to be almost jealous of them, yearning for that simplicity which came with safety and predictability that I've never really known. How nice that would be...

Just I'm about to go even further into my own mind, I feel someone next to me. The figure is short and pale with dark hair, and for a moment I think it's Sam, but when I turn with a relieved smile to him I find it's a boy I've never met before. He looks about my age - maybe younger - and when he looks up at me with large nebula blue eyes, I know for sure that it isn't Sam.

"Hi. I'm Cas. What're you in for?" he asks, his voice small despite his adolescent appearance. I raise an eyebrow as my smile fades into an awkward grin.

"Well, my little brother is in ICU. We aren't sure what's wrong with him though. He woke up pale and shaking this morning so...hopefully he'll be alright. What about you?" I ask in return, leaning casually against the glass case. He eyeballs his shoes before looking back up with sullen features and heaving a troubled sigh.

"My mom - she was diagnosed for breast cancer 5 years ago - is just here for a check up. They say it's looking good, though! That it may be going away, what with all the treatments she's had...I just really hope she can pull through all of this." his eyes swing back down to his sneakers again, and I press one of my hand into the cool glass, letting it capture the rising heat from my palm and dragging it down the side, leaving a strayed print (it reminded me of 'Psycho' for some reason).

"She sounds like a seriously strong woman. I'm certain she'll end up just fine." I assure him mindlessly, my eyelids connecting against my will as I yawn. _Everything has gone too fast..._

"Thanks...means a lot. And she really is..." he peters off, obviously wrapping himself up with deep thought. Suddenly a familiar gruff voice calls out my name and I look through the tank to see Dad hunching over the lobby desk as he writes furiously on some paper.

"Hey, well it was nice talkin' with you, but I gotta keep swimming." I part from the boy, the cogs in my head switching gears and starting to rumble with questions screaming to be answered. The boy's head snaps to me and a smile shows his pearly white teeth.

"Nice talking to you too, Dean." he winks and I raise an eyebrow, but in a blink he's already around the corner. With a shrug of my shoulders I turn and hurry over to Dad, whose done with the paper work and is now waiting with a plump nurse by the ICU door.

"Come on, Dean. We're going to see Sammy now." Dad announces, the finality in his tone resonating as both hopeful and wary. I take a deep breath and puff out my chest a little to show I'm ready, and we follow the nurse through the double doors.

 **Sam POV**

"...he even hear us?"

"Shh, he's sleeping for now. We aren't sure when he'll wake, but we would appreciate it if you both would remain quiet until given the OK."

"Oh...sorry, sir."

"No problem. I'll be right back to check on his vitals again, but in the meantime, keep him company. I don't what the hell he went through, but that kid is going to need some help or something."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, during his time here he's yelled out some very questioning things...it was like he was...I don't know, being attacked by someone. A man. Uh...well I'll fill you in later, and he may be able to as well, but for now let's let him rest. You can remain seated with him, though."

Silence follows. The erratically paced beeping far away pulls at my conscience and wills my mind to waken. Everything feels slow and groggy like I'm trying to see through a translucent window. My side is killing me and I ache to shove a loaded shot of morphine into my wrist (if they haven't already, and if they have, they need to increase it because it isn't working for shit).

"Hey I think he's waking up! His heart monitor is picking up, but not like 'oh god he's gonna die' pick up!" I hear Dean comment, and my heart beats faster at the warm familiarity of his voice.

"Woah, calm down there, Sammy." Dad comforts me in a deep voice which sends chills over my skin as he lays a gentle hand on my right wrist. I force my eyes open and let out a scream when the bright lights of the room pierce them like millions of tiny knives. I feel another, smoother hand grip my shoulder and know Dean is thankfully close by. I can hear him and Dad calling out for help, and a rush of feet stumble into the room. Dad and Dean's hands disappear, leaving not only a firm warmth but a hole inside of me that they had been filling with their constant contact. I feel isolated now, and I very deeply disagree with this new arrangement.

"Dean! Dad..." I croak out, at first not realizing it's me until a sharp pain in my throat spikes my senses from the disuse of my voice. My arms and legs are moving madly in attempt to reach out for them, but they're soon apprehended by unfamiliar smooth hands that make me unwillingly whine and groan in protest.

"It's OK, Sammy. We're right here..." I hear Dean speak up and I settle a little, forcing myself to take deep breaths. I try easing my eyes open now, and find that it works much better than simply rushing right into it.

"Heya, Sammy. How ya feelin'?" Dad asks quietly as the buzz of nurses and machines slowly starts to fade out and all I can focus on are them. I feel my cheeks raise and figure I'm sporting a goofy grin. God, Dean will never let me live this down, will he?

"Alright." somehow escapes my sticky, chapped lips, and I frown at the sound of my voice. It's too low and sound too stupid to be mine...could it?

"I knew you'd be alright, Sammy. Although I'm not sure what we'd have done if...well I'm glad you are, though." Dean smirks awkwardly, and I allow my head to lull as I close my eyes again. I'm not sure why I'm still so tired. It's not like I've been up running a marathon or something.

"Thanks, Dean. Me too. So, when can I break outta this hell hole?"

"Well, all due respect, this 'hell hole' saved your life, boy." Dad retorts, a warning tone linked to his general answer. I roll my eyes.

"Yeah, OK, Dad. But still - when?"

A heavy sigh.

"We'll see. Maybe we should just leave you're ungrateful ass in here for social services to pick up." Dad chides jokingly, and I can imagine the smirk on his tired face. Dean would be glaring and I'd continuously be rolling my eyes.

"Yeah right..." I yawn and feel myself being dragged back under - this time for cold hard sleep. Everything will be fine. I'm fine. I'll get past what's happened to me. Everything will be fine...

 **I feel like there was literally no point to this chapter. What have I done. I'm so sorreehhy**

 **So yeah. I'm sure there'll be an epilogue after this one to wrap this up because this is technically a short story so...that's a thing.**

 **Hope you're well and thanks for reading :)**

 **-Carrie**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sam POV**

The frigid winter breeze ghosts any uncovered skin, sending chills up my spine. Despite this I feel ecstatic to be rid of the stuffy air the hospital supplied me with, and in return take a deep breath just to amplify my sense of freedom. The cold air shoots up my nose like fiery arrows, and my intake turns into a series of coughs accompanied by black dots swimming before me. _One step at a time, Sam,_ Jesus _._

Dad is still inside filling out the release papers as Dean and I begin to make our way to the Impala which is parked on the far end of the sizable parking lot. A hard though gentle hand rests on my shoulder from behind, and I jump a little before turning and finding Dean by my side. He's grinning at me like I'm an old dog who nearly got put down, but made a miraculous recovery. I can't help but feel uncomfortable under his gaze, and his expression falters.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" he asks concernedly, dropping his hand from my shoulder and stuffing it in his front pants pocket like the other. I cast my eyes away in shame for making a 'supposed to be good, Hallmark' moment into an 'awkward reality check' moment. It disgusts me that I can never allow things to be nice for a delectable amount of time. Something always begins to bother me and then 'poof', thanks a lot for pointing that out, _Sam_. Fucking buzz kill.

"Oh, uh...n-nothing. I just wish I could feel this free all the time." Holy shit did I really just say that out loud?! Nice job, now I've really done it. Dean looks kind of taken aback but says nothing, which also begins to really get under my skin out of a strangled surge of curiosity. I decide to apologize whether he agrees with me or not.

"I didn't mean to say it like that but..."

 _fuck this_

"...well, I did mean it. Dean I'm tired of what we do, I just wish we could lead a normal life and then maybe none of this would've happened and-" I'm cut off by Dean whom holds a rather annoyed and disgruntled expression. His hands are slightly clenched and a nerve in his jaw pulses angrily like a bomb ticking.

"Sam - just stop, OK. I get what you're trying to say. I know. I know you don't love what we do and the way we have to live to do it, but...what Dad does for us, and what we do for people - it's the right thing. Sam, we save people. What more in life could you want than the gratitude you receive after saving someone's life?! You don't learn how to do that shit in school, that's for sure. So shut up and let me now when you've gotten your head out of your ass, OK?" he sneers cynically, pushing past me as we near the Impala. I sigh heavily and follow slowly, keeping my distance. I've seen my brother when he's truly pissed, and although he didn't argue as much as I figured he would, he was still obviously not meant to be further tested.

Eventually Dad shows up, a tired grin soon being replaced with a frown when he notices Dean pouting at the front passenger door. He rolls his eyes and I can see him working in his head that I must've been the source of my brother's sour mood, but he says nothing as he manually unlocks the door and we all pile in. A stiff, stale silence swarms the air around us, and with it being such a small space I nearly roll down the window in an effort to escape its intensity. It's going to be a long ride.

 **-*few days later*-**

"That is one huge ass ball of string." I mutter to myself as I sit on the trunk of the Impala, waiting for Dean and Dad to get back from doing their business in the nearby "Corner Bar and Grill". This isn't the first time I've seen it, but damn it feels like it just gets bigger every time. Or perhaps I'm shrinking...either way.

"Hey, dick face! Yeah, you with the shitty hair cut!" I bristle at the ill-mannered comments being thrown at me from across the road. I decide not to turn and look, which would simply mean lowering me to their slanderous ways, so I remain staring up at the Largest Ball of Twine. A few moments later though, I feel a tap on my shoulder and when I turn to look the person grabs the collar of my shirt and practically yanks me off the trunk.

"I'm talkin' to you, asshole. Why didn't ya answer? Me 'n my buds here - we just wanna be friends!" I grunt as I try to twist away from him, but he's got to be a hundred pounds heavier and has a rich height advantage. I can't understand why, out of all people hanging around in a dopey town like Cawker City, Kansas, these assholes would pick me to be messed with. What kind of dickery are the fates pulling on me, anyways?!

"Buck off, shit head." I growl and spit in his face, and he drops me like a hot plate, hissing and hastily rubbing at his face all the while. His friends are laughing like the dicks they are, but it gives my ego a little boost. _Why yes, little pipsqueak did just do that_.

"You shitter, you're gonna fuckin' pay for that!" the largest boy (who'd picked me up) hisses from behind his arm. I crouch in a fighting stance, not honestly sure if I'm well enough for this, and suddenly really regretting it when the boy charges me. He picks me up in a quick, dizzying pace and slams me down on the trunk of the Impala where I'd been _innocently_ sitting not two minutes ago. I feel my back pop and let out a gasp, trying to will my fighting skills into action; my limbs won't cooperate, though. I kick wildly, but none of it is working. I didn't properly judge the size or weight of this guy - he may be able to injure me pretty badly if I don't 'get my ass outta my head' soon. Perhaps Dean was right after all.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!? I wasn't even doing anything to you guys and now you're trying to beat me up?! Did we skip a page or something?!" I try to weakly argue with them, and one of the smaller guys to the right of large guy looks down awkwardly - almost ashamedly. Good, I've found a kink in their armor - may it be small.

Panting heavily, I train my focus on the boy. He has bright orange hair and beady brown eyes. Peach fuzz is growing on his jaw, and he looks like he could be a pretty nice guy - or he would if he weren't abetting in my beating. They all look to be about Dean's age, though I doubt any of them are as well trained as him. I wish he were here now.

"Please don't do this! Seriously guys - when my brother and dad find me beaten up they'll stop at nothing to get back at you; they aren't the type you want hunting you down either." I threaten, hoping Dean actually would still respond that way despite our little spat. Hopefully plan A will work, because plan B will be me actually whooping these guys' asses (although my chances are looking grim). Plan C - less preferred - is the one I put up a show for with my threat and helpless squirming. I really hope the first two pan out.

My assailant is smirking at me, obviously unfazed by my 'silly threat' and prepared to 'beat me to a pulp', as the kids call it these days. Adrenaline courses through my veins and my heart is beating quick and light, my muscles tightening like an arrow strung back in a bow.

The second I notice him let up to pull back his fist which had been gripping my shirt, I rear back (my head unintentionally slamming against the trunk with a disgustingly loud ' _thump_ ') and will all of my energy into bringing up my feet and shoving them into his stomach. He coughs out a heavy ' _UGHFUSHIT_ ' while he grips his stomach and stumbles back, his friends wide eyed and stepping back in shock.

"Don't just fucking stand there! GET 'IM!" large guy roars as he falls to his knees a foot or two away, still cradling his stomach. Thank god for hunting boots I usually never like to wear. The fight is on now as the other two ready themselves, hands balled into fists and their faces scrunched in rage. I bare my teeth and get a firm footing, a shiver spiking my spine. A moment of silence passes between us and at first I'm confused if they were about to straighten and give in, unable to harm such an innocent bystander.

Boy, am I wrong.

Carrot hair guy growls and lunges out at me, and I barely miss his fist connecting with my face by a few inches. _Shit that was too close - what the hell are you doing!?_ I shake my head and steal a deep breath before rushing forward and tackling Carrot hair, but don't get far as I feel a pair of strong hands wrap around my waist. They pick me up and throw me to the ground, and I see that it's the other guy - a blonde with strikingly handsome features and intense blue eyes that are filled with power and hate. I do my best to simply glare back up at him, intent on not showing any fear as he shoves his knees into my stomach, straddling me in an odd way.

"You little faggot...I'm getting real tired of your shit and think you're time is about up. Right, guys?" he hisses, leaning over me and placing his hands around my neck. I struggle against him and try punching and tearing and scratching, but my arms are forced to the ground by the other two who're sporting wide, teeth baring smiles. Malice drips from their jaws and something about them suddenly strike me as animal-like. Either that or they're just sick human beings.

In the second that I instinctively close my eyes as the guy sitting on top of me pulls back one hand and rams it into my face, I hear a familiar shout from far away. It sounds pissed and bloodthirsty, and I hope to god it's who I think it is. Honestly anyone who's willing to get these 3 tons of dicks off of me would be a great help. I let out a strangled scream when a second punch comes and my nose cracks to one side, the bone chilling feeling of blood beginning to gush from it causes tears to spring to my eyes. _Shit this is bad..._

Suddenly the weight is completely knocked off of me and I retch and cough as I'm able to healthily breath again. My head spins as I try to sit up, the faint sounds of fighting and cussing breaking through the loud ringing in my ears. I open my left eye (the right one was damaged from the first punch), and spot a fuzzy image of Dean screaming after the larger guy who'd started the whole ordeal - who is incidentally running away. I hope he falls into a ditch and never gets up.

The blonde guy is laying unmoving a few feet away, a stream of blood stretching down the sidewalk from his agape mouth. I can't imagine what Dean must've done to the guy, but I'm secretly glad he did - despite the extremities. The carrot hair guy is nowhere in sight, but I can hear Dad's scary angry voice somewhere behind me.

Dean is at my side in a flash, his gentle hands skirting all over my chest and moving up to cup my cheeks. He mutters my name several times before wrapping me in a quick hug.  
He pulls away soon after and gives me a relieved grin.

"You may look like total shit, but I'm glad you're OK. Right? You're OK? Dude, we can't leave you alone anywhere, can we?" he adds, and I manage to roll my open eye, the other pretty much swollen shut now.

"Yeah, that's me. Mr. Needs a babysitter 24/7. And yeah I'm alright. Just my eye and nose. Throat is a little scratched up, but I'll live." I croak, pausing as I take in my big brother's concerned, loving expression. It feels good to know that no matter what we go through, he'll be there for me.

"Hey Dean?" I look down and squeeze my eye shut, feeling more tears beginning to brim over.

"Yeah Sammy?" he runs a hand through my hair - just like the old days.

"I...I'm sorry." I look up to him from under my eyelashes, my one eye opening and widening to allow the stinging tears fall.

"For what?" he asks quietly, leaning in closer and wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

"For...for ruining everything all the time. I can never do anything right. I always seem to be in the hands of the fates, and you and dad are always left with saving my ass. I'm sorry for not being the little brother you probably hoped for." I drop my head as a nasty sob racks at my body, making me shudder. Dean draws me in closer, shushing me and slightly rocking me like he used to when I was little and had a nightmare. He was always there for me. He shouldn't have to be, though.

"Sam, I don't believe any of that, and neither should you. You're strong - more so than most kids your age - and you're the smartest guy I know! Who aced all of his exams while taking time to gank some monsters ever few weekends? You! Seriously, Sammy, you're capable of so much...the reason I got so pissed at you before is because...I'm terrified of losing you. I respect that you don't like the life but...I can't imagine it without you. You keep me going - keep me _sane_. Dad, too. No matter how bull headed you act, he still cares for you - and so do I. You're more than I could've ever hoped for in a brother; and don't you forget that." he finishes, his voice cracking a little, and I feel something wet land on my arm.

"Dean - is Sam alright?" Dad asks as he rounds the car, stopping when he sees us breaking down in each others arms. His hard expression goes soft and he kneels next to me and rests a hand on my shoulder. It's calming and warm, and I nuzzle into Dean's chest, never wanting to be so vulnerable around them ever again.

A few minutes click by before Dean nudges for me to get up, looping an arm around my upper waist for support; it's nice to have him beside me, filling the emptiness that would've scared me otherwise. My nose throbs and when I tell Dean he figures it's been dislocated. He offers to pop it back into place (with full disclosure that it will hurt just as bad if I set it on fire) and I reluctantly agree. Dad grabs the first aid kit from the trunk and watches intently nearby, no doubt fascinated by our never failing connection and trust in each other. I'd rather have Dean do it than some random doctor who'd get paid big bucks in the end. Not to mention the questions that would undoubtedly ensue afterwards. All the bruises and week old cuts and claw marks...it wouldn't be worth it. I can't imagine what Dad and Dean had to go through when I was in the hospital before.

A relocated nose and rivers of blood later, I'm all patched up and now look like a pirate since Dean insisted I wear the eye patch. I do have to admit I look pretty cool, but still incredibly ridiculous. Then again, who would I be if I didn't?

Signs of spring are already cropping up (even though it was still only late February) in the southern Kansas towns. It's funny being in the state I was born in...the state I was supposed to be raised in. By now the entire country felt like one big state. Nothing was extremely different between each state we visited. Some were flat, others more mountainous or hilly; some more populated than others. Behind it all, though, there are people wherever we go. None of them are the same, yet none are different, and that's what makes it all so interesting. You never know who you'll end up meeting.

Today I was unfortunate, having drawn a negative card and met negative people. It happens. Keeps us on our toes. What would the world be without a little bad in it? Safe? Scarey? Unproductive? More pointless than it already is? Probably.

These deep thoughts trouble me as I watch the scenery (currently unbroken fields) flash by in whirlwinds of colors, hoping someday I can find somewhere in this big ass state to settle down and lead a pointless life with pointless goals, ending it all with a pointless death. As boring and depressing as it seems, I'd rather have a hidden life and always feel safe, than this constant... _this_. Dean could live with me. We'd have a business together - perhaps a brother owned and operated garage? I could do the marketing and Dean could do the hiring and the dirty work. He would like that. He loves cars. I bet he likes feeling safe too - even though it wouldn't be him anymore, not really.

And we turn off on another road and continue on.

 **the end?**

 **yeah.**

 **the end.**

 **Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed :) 3**

 **-Carrie**


	5. AN

Hey! Just a little note here- REALLY SORRY about chapters 1 and 3 with their screwy formatting shit going on...hopefully that's fixed now. I'm not sure why that happened, considering I basically uploaded them all just about the same way, but oh well.

Thanks for taking the time to read my story and give whatever feedback you want! (Or even if you just wanna say hey!)

:) Hope you all are doing well ~

-Carrie


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